


Neville Longbottom and The Good Man Goes to War

by TulipQ



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Modern Magic, Tragedy, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21547057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TulipQ/pseuds/TulipQ
Summary: I, like many other people, dislike how the Harry Potter books resolved the conflict with Voldemort. I also share the mind that Neville never truly got his moment to shine.This is thus an alternative scene about how I would try to improve the way magic is shown in the Wizarding World setting and also make the end of the Great Wizarding War more emotionally impactful.If you want more, please tell me as I think I can make more of this ilk.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Neville Longbottom and The Good Man Goes to War

The battle of Hogwarts had raged through the night. Neville had been fighting since the first moments, he had killed dozens of the Dark Lord’s allies upon a bridge already, he had taken up the sword of Gryffindor and had slain a snake that seemed to take the blow as if it were a mercy, and yet still the battle would not end.

Since the first time he killed until now, there was the ever present sound of a drum beat pounding in Neville’s ears. He hated them both, the killing and the drum beat. But every soul he slew, the drum only got louder. He worried that he was going mad, that the curses which broke his parents were being worked upon him, but the fighting would not stop so he could not cease the killing. 

A moment of respite had been given, and all Neville could think about was the drums and the killing. 

_ How do I use the sword and my wand at the same time? _ Thought the young warrior.  _ I need magic to turn away their spells, and I need the sword to slay my enemies. If only I could make the sword my wand or my wand the sword. _ Then the truth of the sword and the power of the blade was obvious to the heir of Gryffindor. He used the sword to cleave his wand down the middle, ensuring the blade split the unicorn hair core. The sword took on the power of Neville’s wand; the sword was no longer the Sword of Gryffindor but instead the tool for the will of Neville the Enduring.

The drum finally stopped. In its place came a choir of voices. There was some small din about the death of someone. Neville could no longer care who had died. He just wanted to defend his home at Hogwarts.

No one had noticed that a phoenix had appeared before the young warrior. It laid its neck out upon the ground, waiting for a horrible fate. Neville wept as he gave in to the will of the phoenix; he killed it; it did not resurrect because the sword had stolen that power from it.

The Dark Lord had finished his taunts, his insults, and his call for surrender. Neville gave the answer in a voice that shook the world:  **YOU ARE NOT TO REMAIN IN THIS WORLD, TOM MARLAVO RIDDLE. I COME NOW TO DELIVER JUSTICE UPON YOU.**

Both sides of the battle turned to look at the one who had said those words, because the tone and nature of them had seemed like a spell yet everyone knew their meaning. Where once a young man had stood, a monster that was beyond good and evil now stood. 

All at once, dozens of curses flew at the figure. Six different killing curses landed upon the master of the blade, and six times the master of the blade was reborn in fire. The fire burned away what had been the last pieces of the young boy Neville Longbottom, but that child had no place upon this battlefield.

The monster began to take strides towards the Dark Lord. Each step was perfectly even, perfectly regular. More curses flew through the air, more efforts at killing the beast of war that could no longer truly die. They failed to slow the march.

Feeling true fear for the first time in ages, Tom Riddle tried to flee. He found that he had been rooted to the spot where he stood, and none of his magic could free him. He began to scream and cry like a child who was finally realizing what it meant to be mortal; he knew he was going to die if the monster once known as Neville Longbottom got too close.

The monster reached out with a horrible burning claw. Tom jabbed the Elder Wand into the creature and poured his will to kill into his final spell: “ _ AVADA KEDAVRA!”  _ but the monster simply absorbed the wand and its power before the words were finished. 

**YOU SHALL DEPART THIS WORLD NOW. SHOULD YOU REMAIN, I SHALL DESTROY YOUR SOUL.**

Thus declared the monster that had plunged its nightmarish claws into the body of Lord Voldemort. Unfortunately, Tom Riddle was without a means to kill himself in that moment and was still more afraid of death than he ought to have been; he began to burn with a nightmarish green flame.

The death eaters continued to pour spells upon the monster of war that doing something worse than killing their master. Those who cast killing magic died, those that cast injurious magic were injured, and those that tried to destroy the will of the monster were themselves rendered mindless. Only those who stayed their hands were spared.

Eventually the green fire went out. The body of man in his early 70s, his face marred by years of contorting itself to show utter hatred and contempt for the world, fell to the ground. 

Tom Riddle was more than dead. He had been annihilated and thus could not even leave behind a ghost.

Harry Potter looked at this scene. He was terrified of what it had taken to finally end his nemesis. Harry had hoped his own death, however brief, was going to be the price paid to save his friends and adoptive family, but he understood that dying was not enough now. The scar on his head finally began to heal.

The monster finally calmed down and tried to return into some shape like the man he had once been. Unfortunately, what he had just done was a forbidden form of magic, and the price was terrible. He could not become a young man, nor a man in the prime of his life. Instead Neville Longbottom returned from his greatest battle as an elderly man with a long grey beard and scrawny, bony, limbs. 

The price he paid for the magic he had done was the prime of his life. He would never be a man come of age, never be a father to children he had conceived, and he would die within the next three decades. Neville Longbottom did not regret this payment, but he did collapse to the ground from exhaustion.

Thus ended a terrible war of magic.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note:  
> Thank you for reading my story, I am just getting into creative writing with any seriousness at the age of 25 so feedback about technical improvements is welcome, but please do not criticize the work for not "following the rules of magic" or "being sad" as my design for the work is that magic makes no sense and winning a war is not really a happy thing.  
> And yes, the late Sir Terry Pratchett is among my influences.


End file.
